THE DAY OF DOOM
Fifteenth August, 1812. My hand trembles and my pen halts as I write
the words; for the memory of those tragic hours, far distant as they
are now, over masters me, and I see once again the faces of the dead,
the mutilated forms, the disfigured features of the hapless victims of
savage treachery. Were I writing romance merely, I might hide much of
detail behind the veil of silence; but I am penning history, and, black
as the record is, I can only give it with strict adherence to truth. I
dread the effort to recall once more the sad incidents of that scene
of carnage, lest I fail to picture it aright; but I can tell, and that
poorly, only of what I saw within the narrowed vista of my personal
experience, where the fate of the day found me. Out of the vortex of so
fierce and sudden a struggle, the individual, battling madly for his
own life, catches but hasty and confused glimpses of what others may do
about him or in other portions of the field; and there has been much
recorded in what men call the history of that day's battle, about which
I know nothing. Nor shall I attempt to tell much more than the simple
story of what befell me and those who faced the danger close at my side.
In spite of the early bustle around me, incident to the preparations
for departure, I slept late, stupefied by intense fatigue. The sun
was already high, painting with gold the interior of the western wall
of the stockade, when some unusual disturbance aroused me, so that I
sat up and looked about, scarce realizing for the moment where I was.
The parade was alive with moving figures; and I instantly marked the
cheery look on the faces of those nearest me, as if the entire garrison
rejoiced that the hour for departure had at last arrived. The northern
half of the little open space was filled with loaded wagons of every
description, to which horses, mules, and even oxen, were being rapidly
hitched; while women and children were clambering in over the wheels,
perching themselves upon the heaps of camp accoutrements, and rolling
up the canvas coverings in order that they might the better see out and
feel the soft refreshment of the morning air.
The officers of the post were moving here and there among the throng
of workers, grave of face, yet making no effort to curb the unusual
gaiety of the enlisted men. For the time, all reins of discipline
seemed relaxed. The few settlers and plainsmen who had gathered within
the Fort for protection looked on stolidly, either lying in the shade
of the log wall or lounging beside their horses already equipped for
the trail; while the Miamis were gathered restlessly about their
breakfast fires, their faces unexpressive of emotion, as usual,
although many among them had blackened their cheeks in expectation of
disaster.
Evidently the hour fixed upon for our final desertion of Fort Dearborn
was close at hand; and I hastened to seek opportunity for a bath and
breakfast. I do not recall now, looking back after all these years upon
the events of that day, any dreading of the future, or serious thought
of the coming ordeal. The bustle of excitement about me, the high
spirits of the men, were like a tonic; and I remembered only that we
were east-bound once more, and my chief concern was to be ready to ride
out promptly with the column.
It could not have been far from nine o'clock when every preparation
was completed, and the echoing bugle called the laggards from their
quarters into the open parade. The officers, already mounted, rode
about quietly, assigning each driver and wagon to position in the
marching column, and carefully mustering the troops. The many sick of
the garrison were brought forth from the barracks in their blankets,
and gently lifted to places beside the women and children in the
loaded wagons; while the men fit for active duty fell in promptly along
the southern wall, the right of their slender column resting opposite
the barred entrance. I was assigned to ride with the rear-guard beside
the wagons, in company with the few settlers and fifteen of the Miamis
under command of Sergeant Jordan. Captains Heald and Wells, the latter
with face blackened so that at first glance I scarcely recognized him,
took position at the head of the waiting column in front of the closed
gates, and they sat there on their horses, facing us, and watching
anxiously our rather slow formation.
John Kinzie joined them, his features grave and careworn, a long rifle
in his hands; while the ladies of the garrison, plainly dressed for the
long and hard journey, came forth from their several quarters and were
assisted to mount the horses reserved for them. De Croix accompanied
Mademoiselle, attired as for a gay pleasure-ride in the park, and
gave her his gloved hand to step from into the saddle, with all the
gallantry he might have shown a queen. I knew this was no boy's play
before us now; and, crushing back my natural diffidence, I spurred my
horse boldly forward until we ranged up beside her, even venturing to
uncover in polite salute.
Never did I see her look fairer than beneath the shade of the
wide-brimmed hat she had donned to keep the hot sun from her clear
cheeks; nor was there the slightest vestige of last night's terror
lurking in the laughing eyes that flashed me greeting.
"I surely know of one sad heart amid this gay company," she exclaimed,
"for while we rejoice at being once more bound for civilization, Master
Wayland looks most truly mournful; doubtless his thought is with her
who has turned Indian for a time."
Her careless bantering tone nettled me; but I was quick enough to
answer, having no wish to awaken her fears as to the safety of our
journey.
"'Tis true, Mademoiselle. I dislike greatly to leave in peril one
I have journeyed so far to seek; nor can I banish from my mind the
thought that perhaps I am failing in my duty toward her. Yet surely you
have small cause for complaint, as I have, instead, deliberately chosen
to ride here at your side, in order that I may be near to defend you
should occasion arise,--provided always that my presence shall meet
your wishes and approval."
She bowed as best she could in her high-peaked saddle, shooting a
mischievous glance from me to the unconcerned and self-satisfied face
of the Frenchman.
"I am indeed most gratified and happy, Monsieur, thus to feel myself
the object of such devotion; but I greatly fear you will prove but a
poor companion on the journey if you wear so glum a look. Captain
de Croix is full of wit and good-humor this morning, and has already
cheered me greatly with reminiscences of happier days."
"Indeed?" I said, looking at the fellow curiously. "He has quickly
forgotten the baleful portent of last night. I thought the daylight
would yield him new heart."
"And why not? 'Twas but a cloud, as all of us know now,--though I
confess it terrified me greatly at the time. You yourself seem not even
yet to have wholly shaken off its terror."
"'Tis not the supernatural that so troubles me," I rejoined. "As you
may perceive yonder, Captain Wells rides forth with blackened face to
what he deems to be certain death. I acknowledge, Mademoiselle, that
I look forward to a serious clash of arms before we are rid of the
redskins, in spite of their pledges; and shall therefore keep close
beside you, hopeful that my arm may show you better service than my
tongue before nightfall."
Her eyes had grown grave as she listened; for I spoke with soberness,
and there crept into them a look that thrilled me. Before either could
speak again, Ensign Ronan rode up beside me.
"Wayland," he questioned anxiously, "what is this I hear about a
strange portent in the eastern sky last night? Saw you anything
terrifying there?"
"'Twas no more serious than a cloud which chanced to assume the form
of a monster, and its aspect was most terrifying until we understood
the nature of its formation. Then it became merely an odd memory to
weave a tale about. Mademoiselle here saw it, and remains in most
excellent spirits nevertheless."
He lifted his hat to her, and stared hard at De Croix, who barely
nodded to his greeting.
"By Heavens!" he exclaimed, as if much relieved, "it seemed to me as if
Nature had conspired with those red demons yonder to sap our courage,
when first I heard the rumor. I am so convinced that there is trouble
afoot, that my nerves are all a-tingle at such mystery."
"Are the savages gathering without?"
"Ay! they are in mass of hundreds, awaiting us at the foot of the
mound, and have been since daybreak. See! the sentries are being called
down, and the men are at the gate levers. I must be back at my post."
He held out his hand, and I clasped it warmly, feeling my heart go out
instantly to the brave, impetuous lad.
"You ride this day with the rear-guard," he said, lingering as if
loath to go, "and my duty lies with the van. We may not chance to meet
again, but the God we spoke about together last night will strengthen
our hearts to meet their duty. It matters not where men die, but how.
Good-bye, Mademoiselle! Captain de Croix, I wish you a most pleasant
journey."
With doffed hat, he struck spurs into his nettle-some horse, and was
gone; while the ringing notes of the bugle called the waiting column to
attention.
I watched with deepening interest all that was taking place before
me. The heavy log-gates were unbarred, swung slowly inward, and left
unguarded. Captain Heald uttered a single stern word of command, and
Captain Wells, with a squad of his Miamis pressing hard at his horse's
heels, rode slowly through the opening out into the flood of sunshine.
Captain Heald and Mr. Kinzie, side by side, with Mrs. Heald mounted
upon a spirited bay horse a yard in their rear, followed close; and
then to Lieutenant Helm's grave order the sturdy column of infantrymen,
heavily equipped and marching in column of fours, swept in solemn curve
about the post of the gate, and filed out through the narrow entrance.
The regular tramp-tramp, the evident discipline, and the confident look
of the men, impressed me. While I was watching them, the small garrison
band began suddenly to play, and the smiling soldier faces clouded as
they glanced around in questioning surprise.
"Saint Guise!" ejaculated De Croix, uneasily; "it is the Dead March!"
I marked the sudden look of terrified astonishment in Mademoiselle's
eyes, and dropped my hand upon hers where it rested against the
saddle-pommel. Ensign Ronan spurred swiftly back down the column, with
an angry face, and hushed the ill sound by a sharp order.
"Another tune, you fool, or none at all!" he said, peremptorily. "The
foul fiend himself must have assumed charge of our march to-day."
As the column marched away, the groaning wagons one by one fell into
line behind it, until at last our own turn came, and De Croix and I,
each with a hand upon the bridle-rein of Mademoiselle's spirited horse,
rode between the gate-posts out to where we had full view of that
stirring scene below.
It was a fair, bright morning, with hardly so much as a fleecy white
cloud in all the expanse of sky; glorious sunlight was flashing its
prismatic colors over a lake surface barely ruffled by the faintest
breeze. Never did Nature smile more brightly back into my eyes than
then, as I gazed out over the broad plain where the glow of the
summer reflected back in shimmering waves from the tawny prairie and
glittering sand. With all its desolation, it was a picture to be
treasured long; nor has a single detail of it ever left my memory.
How vast the distances appeared through that clear, sun-illumined
atmosphere, and how pronounced and distinctive were the varied colors
spread to the full vista of the eye, contrasts of shine and shadow
no human brush, however daring, would venture to depict on canvas. A
primitive land this, idealized by distance, vast in its wide, sweeping
plains, its boundless sea, its leagues of glistening sand, and, bending
over all, the deepest, darkest arch of blue that ever mirrored so fair
a picture of the wilderness.
Scattered groups of cottonwood trees, the irregular mounds and ridges
of sand, the silvery ribbon of river, merely emphasized the whole,
and gave new meaning to what might else have been but sheer desert
waste. I knew little then of what other years had seen within these
solitudes and within the circle of my view; yet scraps of border legend
came floating back into memory, until I recalled the name of many an
old-time adventurer,--La Salle, Joliet, Marquette the Jesuit,--who must
have camped beside that very stream out yonder.
The column had halted as our last laggards cleared the gate; and for
a moment we rested in silence upon the side of the slope, while the
long line was being re-arranged for travel. The Indians, in seemingly
disorganized masses, were already enveloping the head of the column
with noisy clamor, and Wells was having difficulty in holding his
Miami scouts to their proper position. A few scattered and skulking
savages,--chiefly squaws, I thought at the time,--were stealthily
edging their way up the slope of the slight rise, eager to begin the
spoliation of the Fort as soon as we had deserted it.
Wild and turbulent as was the scene, I perceived no alarming symptoms
of hostility, and turned toward Mademoiselle with lighter heart. Her
dark eyes were full of suppressed merriment as they encountered mine.
"I thought you would sit there and dream all day," she said pleasantly;
"and I hardly have the heart to blame you. 'Tis indeed a fair scene,
and one I almost regret leaving, now that the time to do so has come.
Never before has its rare beauty so strongly appealed to me."
"'Tis the great distance outspread yonder which renders all so soft to
the eye," I answered, glad to reflect her mood; "yet Captain de Croix
and I know well 'tis far less pleasant travelling over than to look at
here. We think of the swamps, the forests, the leagues of sand and the
swift rivers which will hinder our progress."
"I hardly imagine," she murmured softly, "that Captain de Croix is
guilty of wasting precious time in reflection upon aught so trivial
this morning. He has been conversing with me upon the proper cut of his
waistcoat, and I am sure he is too deeply engrossed in that subject to
give heed to other things."
I glanced at him and smiled as my heart glowed to her gentle sarcasm,
for surely never did a more incongruous figure take saddle on a western
trail. By what code of fashion he may have dressed, I know not; but
from his slender-pointed bronze shoes to his beribboned hat he was
still the dandy of the boulevards, his dark mustaches curled upward
till their tips nearly touched his ears, and a delicately carved
riding-whip swinging idly at his wrist. He seemed to have already
exhausted his powers of conversation, for he remained oblivious of our
presence, fumbling with one yellow-gloved hand in the recesses of a
saddle-bag.
"By Saint Denis, Sam!" he exclaimed, angrily, to his black satellite,
"I can find nothing of the powder-puff, or the bag of essence!
_Parbleu!_ if they have been left behind you will go back after them,
though every Indian in this Illinois country stand between. Come, you
imp of darkness, know you aught of these?"
"Dey am wid de pack-hoss, Massa de Croix," was the oily answer. "I done
s'posed you wouldn't need 'em till we got thar."
"Need them! Little you know the requirements of a gentleman! Saint
Guise! Why, I shall want them both this very day! Ride you forward
there, and see if they cannot be picked out from among the other
things."
"See, Monsieur!" cried Mademoiselle suddenly, one hand pressing my arm,
while she pointed eagerly with the other, "there goes the boat with
Mistress Kinzie and her children! That must be Josette in the bow,
with the gay streamer about her hat. She did wish so to ride with us,
but Mr. Kinzie would not permit it."
The boat had but just cleared the river-mouth, and was working
off-shore, with half a dozen Indians laboring at the oars.
"Yet Josette has by far the easiest passage, as we shall learn before
night," said I, watching their progress curiously. "I imagine you will
soon be wishing you were with them."
"Never, Master Wayland!" she cried, with a little shudder, and quick
uplifting of hands to her face as if to shut out the sight. "Memory
of the hours when I was last on the lake is still too vivid. I have
grown to dread the water as if it were an evil spirit. See! the column
resumes its march, and the savages are moving beside us as might a
guard of honor."
It was as she had said. The long, hard journey had begun; and slowly,
like some great snake torpid with a winter's sleep, the crawling column
drew forward. We at the rear rode down the incline and out upon the
level plain, every step an unconscious advance toward battle and death.